Phoenix Rising
by Serpentina Lynn
Summary: Scott Summers is having increasingly vivid dreams of a mysterious entity. Set around X-Men: Apocalypse
1. Chapter 1

TUESDAY NIGHT-

Scott Summers turned over in bed, still half-asleep. Clumsily he swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. His own hair was probably to blame, tickling him with a feather-light touch. He vowed to go to the mall and get a haircut.

-WEDNESDAY NIGHT-

Scott was back in the tepid ocean water of Santa Monica, paddling out to the waves. The surfboard was rough and tacky with wax under his chest. The water should have been chilly this early in the morning but it was a comfortable lukewarm. He let the first few waves pass by, feeling the swell rise and lower beneath him. He was waiting for the big one.

The Pacific was never quite warm and the waves were never that big on that particular beach. Somewhere in his mind, Scott knew he was dreaming but he didn't care. He longed to be back in the surf.

Scott. Help me.

He woke with a start in his twin-sized bed in a dorm in upstate New York. The hint of an erection pulsed just this side of his awareness. A familiar voice had called to him. It sounded distressed, almost pained. Reflexively, he put a hand to his eyes and checked that his custom ruby quartz visor was still firmly in place. Intruder or not, if he accidentally punched another hole in the roof, Professor X would be pissed.

"Hello?" He whispered into the dark room. "Is someone there?"

The only sound that answered was the soft beating of his own heart. Maybe he'd imagined the voice. He had been dreaming, after all. It wouldn't be the first time. Ever since he moved into the dorms at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Scott's sleep had been uneasy, his dreams more vivid. Often he had a feeling that someone or something was in the room with him. Whoever or whatever it was didn't seem malicious, just curious.

Professor X said the mansion was old, that it had been in his family for a few hundred years. Perhaps there were a few wandering ghosts in residence.

"It's probably just old pipes or something," Scott told himself, unconvinced.

He resolved to try and get back to sleep, but when he shifted into a more comfortable position he was distracted by the nagging tightness in his boxers. He sheepishly hoped the ghost couldn't see in the dark as he reached into the fabric and worked himself to release. 


	2. Chapter 2

-THURSDAY NIGHT-

Scott knew he was dreaming. The sky couldn't really be purple. He vaguely recalled hearing that people only dream in black and white but he supposed [perception changed from you narrating his thoughts to his actual thoughts] that rule might be from a time before color television. Anyway, Scott's whole world was usually in shades of red and pink thanks to his tinted visor.

The dream world was unquestionably full of bright, vivid colors, but not the right ones. He was standing in a grassy meadow surrounded by a copse of evergreen trees. It looked much like the grounds around the school except for the colors. The plush grass under his bare toes was orange and the trees had magenta trunks and cyan leaves.

There was a low droning approaching from the distance. It was a sound similar to far-off bagpipes or a swarm of locusts. Scott strained to see what was there, but the trees obscured his vision. As the sound grew louder and closer, he looked around for something he could use to defend himself. There was nothing. No palmable rocks or fallen branches were within reach.

Scott looked up at the huge pine trees and hoped. He aimed at a thin branch a few yards off the ground and switched the knob on his visor to allow a thin beam of energy to escape the slit. The branch sliced off cleanly and fell soundlessly to the ground.

Scott grabbed it in both hands and held it in front of himself defensively. He had never studied any kind of combat, defensive or otherwise but was fairly decent at hitting a fastball; plus, he felt better having a weapon. Of course, he still had his eye-beams, but the idea of directing the blast on an actual living creature was unthinkable.

The droning was coming closer. It had grown into a roar like a storm at sea. With it came a warm yellow glow. The light was coming through the trees and growing in intensity and heat.

Blinded, Scott covered his eyes with one hand but the light spilled in through the cracks between his fingers. Eventually, it seemed to be penetrating through his very skin. He turned his back to it but it was all around him, enveloping him in a wave of golden heat. It was squeezing the air out of his lungs and searing his skin. He tried to scream but his voice was gone, stolen by the light and heat. Just when he thought he might perish, the world exploded. For a time, Scott was floating, bodiless in a sea of white nothingness.

Gradually, he realized he was back in the meadow. Everything looked the same as before except the colors were back to normal.

There was a rustling behind Scott. He looked for his branch but it had disappeared. Before he could procure another weapon, a bird the size of a grown man with feathers the colors of fire stalked out of the trees. It had the appearance of a peacock crossed with an eagle. The bird stretched its massive wings over its head and opened its beak.

"Scott." The voice was surprisingly soft and pleasant, a clear feminine coloratura backed by the roar of a bonfire. "Come to me."

Scott blinked and he was back in the darkness of his room. The soft cotton sheets were damp and had wrapped themselves uncomfortably tight around his body. He sighed in annoyance at the all-too-familiar tightness in his shorts.


	3. Chapter 3

-FRIDAY AFTERNOON-

"Mr. Summers!" Dr. McCoy's booming voice broke through the boy's haze. He tapped his chalk on the diagram displayed on the chalkboard. "What is the likelihood of the recessive trait being expressed in this offspring?"

After three nights of fitful sleep, Scott was finding it nearly impossible to focus on his teacher's lesson on dominant versus recessive genes. Given that said teacher was currently hanging upside down from the ceiling and was bright blue, Scott's inability to stay awake was particularly impressive. Science had never been his best subject. Even on a good day, he was lucky to get the right answers. Half-asleep, he didn't stand a chance.

"Umm…" Scott wracked his brain, wishing he'd been paying more attention. He finally guessed, "fifty percent?"

A collective groan rose from the class. Dr. McCoy shushed them with one large, blue-furred hand.

"It's actually twenty-five percent, Mr. Summers," the teacher corrected as he leapt down from the ceiling. "Let's go through the Punnett square again."

He erased the diagram from the board and started redrawing it. First came a square that was partitioned into four smaller squares.

Dr. McCoy filled in his chart as he talked. "For the offspring to have the recessive trait expressed, symbolized by lowercase letters, it must possess two recessive alleles, one from each parent. If the parents are both heterozygous, that is they each have one dominant and one recessive allele, they would each have a fifty-fifty chance of passing down either the dominant or recessive allele." He drew upper and lowercase B's into and around the chart.

"The options this individual can have are two dominant alleles, a dominant and recessive allele, or two recessive ones. There is a one in four or twenty-five percent chance of getting two dominant alleles, a two in four or fifty percent chance of getting one of each, and a one in four or twenty-five percent chance of getting two recessive ones. Since two recessive genes are required for recessive trait expression, there would only be a twenty-five percent chance of two heterozygous individuals having an offspring with the recessive trait."

Mercifully, the school bell rang at that moment, signifying the end of class and beginning of lunch. Dr. McCoy caught Scott's arm as he shuffled toward the door with the rest of his classmates.

"Don't worry if you don't understand everything right away," the professor assured when they were alone. "I know genetics are confusing at first, but you're smart. I know you'll get it."

"That's not it, Dr. McCoy. It's just…" Scott struggled to explain. "I'm, um… I'm having trouble sleeping."

"I know it's hard being away from home for the first time, waking up in a strange room. It takes some adjusting." The professor put his massive hand on Scott's shoulder. "You'll get used to it."

"It's just, I'm having really weird dreams." Embarrassment flushed Scott's cheeks red.

"Dreams? Huh?" Dr. McCoy's furry eyebrows scrunched towards each other. "Nightmares?"

"No. Nothing like that. Just weird." Scott said lamely.

How does one explain being aroused by a man-sized bird to one's teacher without sounding insane?

"Hmm. Ms. Grey mentioned having trouble sleeping as well." The professor pushed his glasses up on his blue nose. "I wonder if there's something going around."

Jean too? Scott tried to keep the blush out of his cheeks at the mention of his secret crush.

Dr. McCoy shook his head. Much like a wet dog, the tremor started at his head and traveled down the mutant's body until it reached his nonexistent tail. The spectacle was a bit disconcerting, yet at the same time humorous.

"Sorry," he apologized, sounding almost embarrassed. "I might have fleas. I must work on that. Make. Flea. Repellent."

He spoke each word as he jotted down the reminder in the little notebook he normally kept in his breast pocket. He replaced the notebook then turned his eyes back to Scott.

"Was there anything else?" He asked, his focus clearly broken.

"No," Scott said quickly. "I think I got it. Thanks."

"Good. Re-read that chapter tonight, though. We're having a pop quiz tomorrow. Shhh!" The professor looked around conspiratorially and whispered, "don't tell anyone."

Scott lowered his own voice in concert, "I won't."

The professor seemed satisfied and sent Scott on his way.


End file.
